They played the waiting game, sauntering and enjoying the rippling water, composed, hopeful, begging for faces to be drawn from the borders, from the boundaries, from the caverns and pine groves. She’d attempted to start and regale a crowd before, offering her bounties, her wares, her knowledge, to no avail – perhaps her call had gone unheard, unnoticed, or simply ignored. The notion pressing against her skull, that perhaps it could happen all over again, was an irritating, vexing one, and she continued holding out hope and lifelines amidst the grandeur, the splendor, of their vast land. Mere snippets later her heart lifted at the sight of the Doctor and his companion, and she trumpeted a sweet hallelujah, a grateful hello, to her fellow Mender, to one of the masses long devout to their cause, to their kingdom (even if it was more listed under poisons and deceits, even if it heralded curses instead of fortunes). The nymph and her bonded hastened quick bobs of their heads, Imogen bestowing a chirp towards Aramis (and the carcass he’d brought, for a meal or something else?), flicking her ears and rounding her lips into a cordial, curled smile. Prepared for gruff, brief greetings, simplistic but cordial, her features faltered and crumbled in surprise as he extended his queries towards sorrows and well-wishes; her face turned in his direction, stunned and eyes widened, then gaze lingering down towards the ground, along the patches of freshly fallen snow, on the puffs of coiled air her breath hastened (because how many knew she’d been captured, ho many knew she’d been weak and stupid and careless?). The fairy composed herself thereafter, composed a brilliant smile upon her face, fought tooth and nail for the dainty mask she frequently wore, vocals bright, spirited, brewing past convictions in hope of channeling them all over again. “I’m well – though I’m sorry for it too. It was very foolish on my part.” Her head tilted a fraction, stare resolutely wandering over his frame, over his face, along all the stories, all the mythos they’d never shared, spilled, or spun. “How are you?”

But then others came, and any trepidation she’d courted twirled off into another corridor as she set her sights upon extending her welcoming (for she didn’t know them, and that was unsuitable), her wishes, her dreams and aspirations for a world she’d cherished. “Hello! I’m so glad you could make it.” Her eyes swam from the beautiful chestnut with gilded trinkets, to the silver bay embodiment of Arah, antlered and all. The grin she’d painted renewed its sense of spirit, provided to both newcomers with absolute earnest. “I’m Lena. Who are you?” She yearned to know them all, to band them together on the course of learning, of mending, of healing, of assuaging the soldiers, the warriors, the citizens of their home, of a kingdom destined for further glory, for further triumph; and they could provide a piece, a sliver, a sanctuary for the weary and forlorn. The sylph strung together her beloved song, a practiced virtue, lilted into a harmonious aria, navigating the potential routes they had in store. “Thank you for coming. I was hoping we could all discuss plans for our healer ranks.” Her gaze, steady, amiable, and luminescent, lingered upon each. “Though we mainly heal by the Time God’s magic, there are still ample ways of soothing our herd. Herbs, for instance, can be very beneficial. If any of you are willing to explore, we may be able to discover some new vegetation.” She paused, ruminating for a moment or two on which plants to seek, which were dangerous, which were toxic or helpful. “We already have ideas for a future greenhouse and herb garden. Once we find some herbs, we could store them in a cave until the garden is ready.” Lena’s mind was a whirl, a blur, of possibilities, stretching into vast regions of potential and prowess; because they could be just as great as the scholars, as the phantoms, as the mercenaries – they merely needed a spark, a flare, an ember to get them started. “Is there anything you wish to learn? Any knowledge you seek?” What could assist them more? What would be the most guiding or supportive? Eager, willing, ardent, and determined, the dove wove her sentiments, her raptures, her reveries, into the void and yearned for all of them to grasp, clench, and hold onto them firmly, to journey and venture into their leagues, into their fathoms, into their depths, for their cravings and desires. What did they want?

[Professional timeline murderer. ;D]